Take It All Away
by weatheredtome
Summary: After years of mental torment, Leon gets the surprise of a lifetime. Although now he's not so sure he wants it. L/L. -making the darkness appear to move, to swirl around him. To swallow him whole, as if it were alive.-
1. Tormented Soul

WARNING: This story is intended for those 17+ for language, violence, and SLASH (Male coupling)! Otherwise, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Resident Evil series, and if I did, Luis wouldn't have died.

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Chapter One: Tortured Soul

An image of a painting hanging in a dreary castle seemed to call back ancient demons, lightning struck, and then all hell broke loose. Death permeated the atmosphere like smoke in a smoldering warehouse. It felt like an obscured dream that took a wrong turn somewhere, pieces seeming broken up in parts more often than not, and you could even swear you had this dream before… And yet, not being able to remember exactly what happens. Obviously, nothing having to do with kittens and rainbows, but the show must go on.

He watched himself walk down a familiar hallway from a bird's-eye-view, knowing in full that he was nothing but a helpless spectator. He pressed forward, not understanding what he was doing in the first place, wishing he was home in his bed sleeping right then. His heart pounded disruptively in his head as he came up onto a corner, his gut wrenching as he slowly turned, not knowing exactly what was going to happen. The lightning struck again, and this time was followed by a blood-curdling scream, the voice of a female. He knew this voice, though he could clearly discern it from the uproar of shouting voices getting closer. The sound of his boots thudded in rhythm against the cold marble floor as he picked up the pace, following the estranged voices, as if being beckoned by the knowledge that he would die anyway. He skidded to a stop, the loud sound of glass breaking underneath him broke him from the seeming trance. He took a brief look out the shattered window; he was at least five stories up, he thought or at least that's as far down as he was able to see. The rain was dense, thunder cracking so loudly that it hurt his eardrums, he pulled his head back inside. He looked back down, a dark substance appeared below his feet but he was unable to tell what it was. He used the lightning to his advantage this time, used it as his own personal flashlight. The light came swift and bright just as he'd hoped, though the one thing he didn't anticipate was the dark substance; dark crimson surrounded his feet, the muscle in his chest literally stopped for a matter of milliseconds. Suddenly the rain hitting the floor and windowsill resembled the sound of missiles in a warzone, it was deafening. Before he knew it, he was running as fast as his feet would carry him. Glancing back, he could still see the blood, it trailed from his feet like a wet shadow of blackness. Echoing in the distance, he heard a child laughing, making quick note of how it didn't sound quite right…Twisted and malevolent, like the very voice itself was going to devour his soul. The path he'd taken led him to a dead end, it was unusually dark and he felt as though he was being watched by something in the wall or the wall itself. Another silent flash revealed the horror before his eyes; he'd been standing in front of a giant mirror and the blue of his eyes was replaced with an eerie red hue that screamed kill. But that wasn't what caught his attention…it was the gaping hole in his body, the ends of his clothing and skin curling around the edges of the massive wound, instantly indicating it was induced by a puncture from the back all the way through. The last thing he saw was blood being splattered on the reflective sheet of glass.

Leon flung up in bed, pulse racing and breath hitching. He exhaled unevenly in relief to find himself in his room; it had all been just another bad dream. He didn't have night terrors like these often, just enough to deprive him of sleep. He pulled the sheet off himself best he could, the light sheen of sweat making it a job to him, and threw his legs over the side of the bed with a yawn. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock, staring longer than usual to wait for the blurs to leave his eyesight…Four-eighteen in the morning, just great. He loosely thanked God that he was on vacation as he stood up, smoothing out the legs to his boxers before making his way to the kitchen. He opened the top cupboard beside the refrigerator, unable to ignore the bright red digits on the microwave reminding him of the time when he grabbed a bottle of vodka. All he needed was enough to calm his nerves and then he'd go back to sleep. He lazily turned around and sluggishly treaded into the common room, flicking on the lamp and taking a seat on the taupe couch adjacent from the television. The agent snatched the remote from the dark brown coffee table and pressed the power button. He pulled the corked cap from the bottle of alcohol and took a swig, grimacing slightly when it scorched the back of his throat as it went down. At that point, he wished he hadn't drunk the rest of the orange juice for breakfast that morning. He brought his attention to the television, and of course, nothing but infomercials. He grimaced through another taste of the bitter liquid, glaring daggers through the bottle as if it was it's fault he was up and four-thirty in the morning drinking in the first place. Leon leaned his head back against the couch, the cool fabric feeling good against his bare neck while light from the program danced across his bare back and chest. Wondering why he sat up until dawn drinking every time he had that damn dream, and why it felt so real right after he woke up but faded into thin air after a few minutes. Every time he had it he swore he wouldn't forget it, but it would be gone at the snap of a finger. He groaned irritably, now so wired he probably wouldn't be able to fall sleep again until mid afternoon.

"I'm thirty-one fuckin' years old for crying out loud," he said to himself "and it's just a nightmare." He winced ever so slightly as he lied. It was so much more than just a case of serial dreams, they recollected his subconscious fears and memories, combining the two into what it was currently escalated to. He tried so hard to stay rational, to keep reminding himself he couldn't have done anything to save him, because if he didn't then he probably would've gone crazy by now. Or maybe not, either way, he felt guilty -The kind that weigh heavily on your heart. Leon took another gulp of the vodka, the taste now bearable and didn't burn the back of his throat. He rubbed his tired, burning eyes. The man then abandoned his bottle and reached for the pack of cigarettes next to a small, clean ashtray. He used to smoke when he was a teenager but stopped soon afterwards so he could be a police officer, wanting to be at optimal health, and never had any attentions to pick the habit back up. He bought his first pack four years ago, after the first night terror. He placed the filtered end between his lips to free his hands while he struck the match against it's package, the flame ignited to life brilliantly before fulfilling it's purpose and was immediately blown out. He dropped the used match in the ashtray and dragged the whole thing to the edge of the coffee table and hastily turned the television off, sick of hearing the pitchman talk about the same useless attachments that turned a hair trimmer into a lighted screwdriver over and over again…or something like that. He retrieved the vodka bottle before lying down on the couch and rubbed his temples. He took a deep drag of the cigarette before exhaling and closing his eyes, comfortable with the silence surrounding him.

_Blood…lots of it. Long dark waves of hair drowning in it. His eyes squinted as he took deep breaths, trying desperately to hold his demeanor. His efforts proved in vain, however, as a single tear fell, his voice dry and scratchy as he spoke "Sorry…"_

Leon felt an unpleasant shiver run up his spine, he then realized he had been dozing off again. He inhaled the last bit of the cigarette before putting it out, wishing the images and voices would leave his mind. His heart felt like it'd been ripped from his chest and he threw his arm over his face, taking deep breaths. Even though it was over five years ago, the mission he went on to save the President's daughter was still fresh in his memory. Painfully fresh; a rogue tear escaped his prison-like eye and made it's way down his face upon remembering the smell of blood… his friend shoving his hand away when he tried to look at the wounds. Sure, he might not have been able to save him, but he could've at least _tried_.

Leon swallowed hard, the bottle of alcohol falling to the floor "…Luis."

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Yeah, soo….um I wrote this for 2 reasons:

I was bored and watched my brother beat Alan Wake this morning and it made me feel like writing.

I 3 the Leon/Luis pairing just as much as Wesker/Chris ^_^

Anyway, next chapter coming (It should be where a certain someone makes his appearance! Drop me a review if you like it so far and thanks for reading!


	2. The Uninvited Guest

WARNING: This story is intended for those 17+ for language, violence, and SLASH (Male coupling)! Otherwise, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Resident Evil series, and if I did, Luis wouldn't have died.

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Chapter Two: The Uninvited Guest

Leon woke up, his head aching and body smelling of liquor. He snatch the remote and pressed the guide button, once it came up he was barely able to read the digits through blurred vision. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. He grunted slightly as he sat up, the entire world spinning around him now. Leon realized his foot was resting on a hard, cold object. The bottle of vodka from last night. He remembered picking it back up –but not the entire fifth. He stood to his feet, ignoring the ache in his body to get something to drink. Upon entering the kitchen, the agent realized something was abnormal about his apartment, and himself, he didn't even remember putting on gym pants last night. He poured himself a cup of scorched black coffee, wishing for the day they'd invent a coffee maker that starts brewing the second you wake up. Yawning, he wiped sleep from his eyes, unaware that his mug was tilting to the side.

"Ow, fuck!" he shouted when the scorching liquid spilt over the rim the mug, splashing his hand causing him to instinctively drop it. He watched the ceramic glass shatter once it connected with the tile floor as if it were in slow-mo and the sound made his ears want to bleed. Sticking his injured figure in his mouth, he stepped into the common room.

"Hey, can you keep it down a bit, bro? I've got a splitting headache!" a familiar voice called from his left, in the dining area.

Leon spun around on his naked heel to stare straight at the owner of the voice. Long wavy pieces of espresso colored hair strewn about the floor covered the man's face, stray strands carelessly draped over a deeply tanned, muscular shoulder. Leon almost felt like he'd been sent into a stupor as he started to stammer "Wha- how-where-?"

"You're not gonna start bawling again, are ya?" he asked bluntly before lifting his head off the floor, pulling his arms under himself to rest on them.

"Luis…" he said unsteadily, watching the Spaniard peel a playing card that that had practically adhered itself to his face.

"You really are a lightweight, Leon. I got here around five last night, remember?" he tossed the card in a scattered pile to his left. He brushed his thumb the left side of his lip, which was bruised and swollen and might have even been bleeding at some point. Luis' slight smirk dissipated when the other shook his head. Taking on a more serious expression, he stood to his feet and smoothed out his white undershirt. Luis met Leon on the far side of the room, where his friend's feet had been planted the entire five minutes after realizing he was there "Well, I guess it's up to me to set you straight then."

*Ten and a half hours earlier*

It had been over an hour since Leon started drinking, his night terror still fresh in his mind. He had just finished putting out his sixth cigarette when his doorbell rang. He slowly rose from his perch and surprisingly, as drunk as he was, managed to make it to the door without incident. After fumbling with the locks for a moment, not even bothering with the peephole he managed to get the door open and immediately said "Whatever you're sellin', I don't-" he was cut off mid sentence by the person standing in front of him, in complete bewilderment.

_[Flashback]_

_Leon sat there, fully aware that he could catch up to Saddler and end everything at that very moment. But he just sat there and allowed the heaviness in his chest to engulf him. His right hand rested against Luis' cheek, the other still lay dormant over the man's ribcage. He swallowed hard, staring numbly at the pool of blood encircling the other's lifeless head and soaking the long dark tendrils of hair…Never once daring to glance down at the gaping hole in his friend's chest._

Leon forced himself out of the dream world and back into the present, scrutinizing the man in front of him. He was dressed rather plainly in compared to his usual attire; his white dress-shirt unbuttoned just to the point that an undershirt of the same color peeked out. His drab brown slacks seemed to be made from a slightly lighter material that hung favorably from his hips. And in addition to the usual rings he adorned, his hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. Despite the little changes, it was most definitely Luis. He still couldn't understand how it was possible for him to be standing in front of him when he saw the guy die before his eyes.

Said Spaniard rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand nervously, and almost as if he read Leon's mind, said "Don't ask, I don't know either. I thought I was a goner for sure." He said, pulling down the dress shirt and undershirt to expose a horrendous scar in his chest. The way Leon stood resembled a statue, still and emotionless as he intently watched the angry scar as if he was expecting it to rip wide open and suddenly spew blood everywhere like one of those cheesy 'eights horror movies. Luis released the grip on the garments, letting them slip back into their previous positions. "…I-" was all he got out before Leon's fist suddenly, and firmly, connected with his face. Luis stumbled further back into the hallway and carefully placed hand against his mouth "Heh," he said dejectedly, wiping a small amount of blood from the corner of his lip "I guess I deserved that…"

"Damn straight you did! I thought you died five years ago and you just show up at my door!" he shouted getting ready to slam the door shut "That's the second time someone's played dead on me and I'm sick of it!"

"Wait," he grabbed Leon's arm and lightly tugging him towards him, the other was unable to fight it due to his drunken state. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Leon. I don't remember much of what happened, but one thing I did remember was you. I think it's because you were one of the last things I saw."

"Leon?" a females voice called from his left, both men turned to see a young red-haired woman peaking out of her door at them. "…I heard yelling," she hesitated, taking note of the mysterious man holding onto Leon, who was clad in nothing but boxers "is everything alright?"

Leon fumbled hazily inside his head for a moment "Uh sorry for waking you, Jen..." he paused again, almost unable to keep up with everything "And yeah, everything's fine."

The female placed a hand against her doorframe, unsatisfied with his answer "You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah, just…catching up with an old friend." He barely managed a reassuring smile, but it seemed to convince his neighbor as she nodded and slowly closed her door, hopefully going back to bed.

Luis leaned into Leon's line of sight, feeling slightly ignored "Will you please listen to me?"

"Sure." He finally answered, slightly cooled down from the initial shock, he stepped to the side so Luis could walk in.

The Spaniard stepped in quietly, noticing the large bottle of liquor sitting on the coffee table. But that wasn't what peaked his interest, he looked back at Leon who was closing the door and motioned towards the used ashtray "I thought you didn't smoke?"

Leon merely shrugged, "Help yourself."

"Listen, Leon, I meant it when I said I didn't mean to upset you in any way." He swallowed hard "I really thought I was gonna die… I woke up and you were gone."

"Luis stop-" the American said abruptly stumbling a little over to the couch and picking up the glass bottle, "I am so not drunk enough for this." He feigned a grin "Want some?"

He shook his head slightly "I can't drink that stuff straight."

"Puss." He taunted after taking a swig, the mood immediately lightening up…at least to him.

Luis grinned at the challenge and outstretched his hand "Okay, then, pass it here." Once in his hand though, he had to refrain from grimacing against the nail-polish remover smell when it assaulted his senses. Like when Leon took his first sip, the vodka burned as it went down. Luis coughed but it only made the taste even more unbearable, "Ugh."

"It's not so bad once you got a little in your system." Leon stated as he sloppily maneuvered around the longhaired male to make his way to his kitchen. "L-" he paused, still afraid that if he uttered his name that he'd wake up in his bed and realize the whole thing had been a dream. He quickly choked back the thought before he delved too far. "I -I'm sorry I hit you earlier."

"Don't worry about it." He said, taking a seat in Leon's recliner when the American returned with a tall glass cup and a full cartoon of orange juice.

*Present time*

"Ohh, so we stayed up all night drinking?" Leon asked.

"Pretty much," Luis nodded, searching for his hair band "that is until you passed out and I stayed up and tried to play some solitaire. All I know from then is that I lost thirty-four times in a row before giving up." He pointed to the cards on the floor.

He ran his fingers through his light brown hair and yawned, trying to act aloof to the whole thing for reasons unbeknownst to him "This is all a little much to take in…I think I need to go back to sleep before I die from exhaustion, best I can offer is the couch. Night." He rested a hand on Luis' shoulder before continuing, "It is good to know that you're okay."

"Thanks and goodnight, Leon." He watched the younger walk to his room, he let out a deep breath of relief, happy that Leon didn't question him about the bawling thing. He plopped down onto the couch falling to sleep quickly, the floor had been rather uncomfortable, but it was better than sleeping on a loveseat or recliner.

_"I really missed you, man. I have nightmares about Spain sometimes, and I'm you –I mean, not really you but I just have the same injury and-" Leon admitted but suddenly stopped his rambling short to drink the last of the vodka, the happy drunk feeling dissipating at light speed. He swallowed the lump in his throat, sniffling then throwing his arms around the other's waist, who had joined him on the couch "You know, I tried to be rational, people die all the time. But it was almost left and right that someone died, you know? …I've felt so bad, all those years… You didn't have to help me, but you did and got hurt…"_

_"You really know how to kill a buzz, amigo." He jested lightly "It would've happened anyway, with or without you in the picture."_

_Leon shook his head "I could've checked your pulse, but I was afraid that if I did, then you'd really be dead. But if I did, Mike would be alive too. He had a family."_

_"Shh." Luis shut his eyes tight, he didn't want to hear any of it…the people that died and their pasts, because he was the one that was really to blame and he knew it. He worked on the project, he should've destroyed it before Saddler could get his hands on it. The Spaniard wrapped his arms around his friend's neck, trying his best to lull him before they both ended up, in his opinion, a sobbing pair of men pathetically curled up together on a couch._

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Don't really know how I feel about this chapter (it seems rushed and choppy at times, I'll see if I can fix it later. Too tired right now) and I think I might have Luis' hair cut back down to it's original length by the end of chapter three (although he'd be even hotter with longer hair). I know they probably seem a little OOC, but I mean, come on, make anyone feel guilty enough and they will bawl like a baby (especially when they're drunk.). Next chapter explains why Luis is in America along with other little miscellaneous things.

Please take into consideration that I like reviews as much as zombies like brains! Which means I like them a lot! (Also there aren't enough Leon/Luis fics out there so give a little props to your fellow fans ^_^)

EDIT: I'm working on chapter 3 right now and I re-read this one, there were TONS of errors in it (not that I'm too surprised, I hate proof-reading and I wrote this one really quickly) so I fixed them the ones I came across.


	3. King of Pain

WARNING: This story is intended for those 17+ for language, violence, and SLASH (Male coupling)! Otherwise, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Resident Evil series, and if I did, Luis wouldn't have died.

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Chapter Three: King of Pain

His eyes opened slowly, a sharp ache in his brain, and his entire body in paralyzing pain. _'Another dream.' _he reminded himself, as if doing so would help him to awake. Though no matter how much he repeated it to himself, it didn't make it seem any less real. The fear and searing pain, the loneliness, it all felt so real to him. He looked around, it was nearly pitch-black in the room, making the darkness appear to move, to swirl around him. To swallow him whole, as if it were alive.

A sharp, almost electric feeling shot through him as soon as he attempted to sit up and he realized the large puncture wound was still in his chest. He closed his eyes, feeling too weak to keep them open any longer. It wouldn't be long now before his lungs would begin to fail him as well. He managed a small sigh of disappointment, part of him had hoped that this time his eyes would've opened to see _him_ sitting at his side. His warm hands still wrapped around his own, stubbornly trying to stop the hemorrhaging.

_'Just a dream...like the others.' _he thought to himself, trying to cut through the hazy memory and remember exactly what would happen next. But it was no use, it would only come to him as it occurred. The thought left him as quickly as it came when slow,staggering footsteps began to echo throughout the room. His blood ran cold at the sound of an axe screeching it's way across the marble floor in time with sluggish steps. With each new tread, a new strike of terror shook him to his core. He was going to die. He weakly clenched his fists, keeping in mind why he was here in the first place. His sacrifice. He had to wait, to be strong in the last moment of his life.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

Just as he realized the cacophonous noises were close enough for him to reach out and touch it, it ceased. The steel scraped maddeningly loud once again, only this time it was next to his head and drag downward before stopping again. He clenched his jaw _'I can't die yet!'_

This wasn't how it was going to end.

He rolled himself over onto his stomach, the shapeless axe connected with the floor not even a second later. He screamed out in pain and fear, the wound in his chest screaming back as he helplessly scrambled on the floor. His hands and shoes slipping on the cold blood covering the once grand marble floor. Struggling to his feet, he only glanced back long enough to catch the eerie crimson glow of a Ganado's eyes before disappearing through the nearest door. He would never get the chance to wonder how it entered the castle.

He quickly turned the corner, barely managing to miss Los Illuminados, it's scythe just breaking the skin as it slashed at him. He pushed it back and continued running until he was sure he was out of it's sight. He gripped his arm tightly, panting from lack of oxygen as he inspected the wound, luckily the gash didn't seem to be very deep. At least that was one injury he wouldn't bleed to death from.

Walking further down the corridor, passing a long flight of stairs, he finally reached the door to an operating room, of sorts. He knew it to be the room where ghastly experiments happened, he hated it with a passion. He cautiously turned the knob, knowing on the other side of it, he'd be able to stop himself from bleeding to death and probably even find fresh blood packets for a transfusion. He grimaced at the thought, pushing the door open with his good arm. Another one of the Los Illuminados reached for him within. He stumbled back, only to fall onto another one. The latter, had finally caught up with him, and slashed horizontall. The other, flail-wielding creature had been caught in the crossfire, it's ally accidentally beheading it. It's head sickeningly tumbled to the floor as the Plagas from within emerged, the long insect-like body wriggled outward, stretching and moving it's claws in an almost rhythmic pattern. He coughed, nearly gagging while the neck area that connected the Plagas to the host spewed a vile, acid-like liquid. It spilt over the robes, slowly disintegrating them. The smell was nauseating. He fell backward, paying no attention to the shock of pain coursing through his body, he scrambled to his feet and limped for the stairs. They were longer than they initially appeared, without thinking, he looked back. The last thing he saw was a spiked flail nearly connecting with his face, he leaned backward, losing his balance and tumbling down the stairs. He could hear bones in his extremities snapping as he lost consciousness.

Luis flung up, clutching his chest tightly. It was nighttime again, they'd slept through the whole day. He got up and stood in front of Leon's door, hesitating as his hand touched the doorknob.

_'Do you have any idea what time it is?'_

_'I had a...'_

_'Nightmare? And you can't sleep now? Aw, that's too bad. Tell ya what, come curl up next to me and I'll kiss all your fears away.'_

He cursed himself under his breath, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. _'Like that would happen...' _he thought, shaking his head.

"Can't sleep?" Leon asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stood in his doorway.

"I'll get over it." Luis replied, placing his palms on the ground to lift himself up.

"Come on then," Leon coaxed, holding his hand out for Luis to take "let's watch some TV. I can't sleep either."

Luis accepted it and pulled himself back to his feet, following his friend into the living-room. He watched Leon turn the television on and disappear into the kitchen.

"I've got a five-disc changer under the TV, find some movies you wanna watch and put 'em in." he said, pressing the start button on the microwave. "What do you want to drink?"

The smell of popcorn soon wafted it's way to the living room, "Whatever's fine with me, amigo." he replied, looking over Leon's DVD collection. He grinned to himself "For a man who survived an apocalypse with flesh-eating corpses, you sure seem to enjoy zombie movies a lot."

Leon laughed, pulling two glasses from his cupboard "Yeah well, old habits die hard I guess." he emerged from the kitchen with the bowl of popcorn and two drinks "Even if you're almost devoured by _flesh-eating corpses_."

He nodded, taking his seat opposite to Leon. He scratched the back of his head nervously "Um, Leon, have you had any nightmares lately?"

The younger male froze at the question, instantly thinking that Luis knew about his dreams "Why? Have you?"

"I just had a lovely dream about being back-stabbed by Saddler…no pun intended." he jested, but taking quick note that Leon didn't like it that much. "Sorry, amigo...I was just kidding."

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This chapter is so stupidly choppy it makes me angry. For some reason I can't make it work :(

I'm sorry it took me so long to finish, gimme reviews and I promise to get the next chapter up in less than a week o(^_^)o


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